


Nabakov Weeps

by crassenoughtocare



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Lolita, Pedophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crassenoughtocare/pseuds/crassenoughtocare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Its not as weird as you might think, having an alien in your house. However, it is weird having a distressingly attractive barely fourteen year old in your house.<br/>Originally for the Kink Meme</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nabakov Weeps

He's not a pedophile.  
...  
He's _not._

Sure, he tends to be drawn to ladies of petite stature, those who _looked_ questionably legal but never actually _were_.

The first time they meet he is dead. She introduces herself and assures him that Dave is okay before he even asks, pulls the sword from his chest in one clean move and presents it to him like a gift. She's five feet of morbid delight and he can't help but like her.

One of her dead robot selves comes around sometimes. It's nice, having a sentient robot around again, brings back fond memories of childhood.

He doesn't know how long he's there, but eventually everything _shifts_ and he is both there and not there, eternal in his nothingness.

And then he's in the apartment. He feels his heart beating and knows Dave has some serious explaining to do. Instead, they hug, and proceed to get extremely uncool.

That night she shows up at their door.

Its not as weird as you might think, having an alien in your house. However, it is weird having a distressingly attractive barely fourteen year old in your house.

For a long time, he ignores it. At first, he's bothered by the fact that she's gorgeous in this perfect, awkward way. But hey, there is nothing wrong with appreciating beauty. Art is beautiful, and he certainly never wanted to fuck a Botticelli.

With that bit of slack, his brain goes wild. Starts noticing how perfectly black her hair is, deep, shining black that tumbles down her back in wild curls. The line of her neck and jaw, little, lithe hands and feet, the perfect curve of her body, small breasts and an ass that should be outlawed on anyone under eighteen. He plays it cool, treats her normally, like she's a normal kid.

But she notices. Starts flicking her eyes at him when he finds himself staring, catching him. She's letting him look. If she didn't approve, she'd beat the shit out of him, right? He knows trolls do that, knows she's done it.

Still, there really isn't much wrong here. He looks, he thinks about her, but it's all in his head. He won't touch her, not until she's older, at least. And by the time she's old enough to touch, he'll be over this stupid fixation.

Then one day everything goes to hell.

Dave is at John's for the weekend, so it's just he and Aradia. No problem, they'll hang out and she'll go off and see her troll friends and then Dave will be back and everything will be normal again.

Saturday morning finds them in the kitchen, her perched on the counter and him making coffee, easy conversation between the two of them. Aradia starts in about life and death and how the two aren't so different and there's nothing to be sad or afraid about because it's just a change and everything moves so perfectly and it's all interconnected and beautiful and she's so passionate and honest that he has to kiss her. So he does. Puts his hands on the sides of her face and pulls her in and kisses her.

When he pulls back she's staring at him, eyes wide, unreadable. Fuck. But just as he turns to leave, she catches his wrist. He doesn't turn back but she raises his hand and kisses his palm. He feels her shaking, turns back, and dooms himself.

She kisses him back this time, letting his hands settle on her waist as her, find the back of his neck. He pulls her legs apart, tugs her to the edge of the counter and feels down her back, her rump, strokes those light grey thighs until she's out of breath and he's painfully hard.

Suddenly guilt comes crashing down on him and his tongue pulls out of her mouth and he's out of there, down the hall and not looking back until his door is shut. With his pants hardly down enough to get his cock out, he comes embarrassingly fast, her name on his lips.

 

He can't go out there. Can't face her. But she _wanted_ him. She wanted him to stay, kissed him back, gave him little noises and pressed her hips into his. So it wasn't totally his fault, right? Right. She wanted this. Plus, she was hardly a kid anyways. In years or sweeps, technically, but not in maturity. She didn't act young, not even close. So he shouldn't let this get to him. Of course he was attracted to her, how could he not be, with her wise mind, perfect body, boundless energy and love?

He tries not to think about it. Avoids his own mind with work, catching up on reading, anything but letting his mind wander.

He's doing a pretty good job, it's two o'clock and he's absorbed in some book he's read three times, completely ignoring the world outside his room, until someone knocks on the door. Oh god why, why is she doing this? Is Dave back? Is the house on fire? He hopes for a gas leak as he pulls open the door. Neither of them say a word.

He doesn't have his glasses on and he doesn't care, doesn't even think about them because she steps inside and shuts the door behind her. _You shouldn't be here,_ he almost tells her. Should tell her. But before he can she presses up on her toes and kisses him. Any resolve he had crumbles.

He presses her against the door, kisses her as if his life depends on it, biting at lips and tongues, clicking teeth together, it's messy and desperate but he wouldn't trade it for anything. Somehow both of them lose their shirts and he kneads her breast through the fabric of her bra, slips that off too, bends to take a dark red nipple in his mouth, hearing her moan quietly as it hardens almost instantly. Her breasts are small, but big enough to cup in his hand.

He straightens up, doesn't look at her as he unbuttons her jeans, pushes them down past her hips and knees, letting her step out of them before kissing her between the legs, through her underwear. She shudders. He picks her up and lays her on the bed, stopping to remove his own pants. She watches him, maroon flecked eyes burning him as he undresses.

Naked, he kneels on the bed in front of her, letting her pull them together, trapping his erection against her stomach. Almost immediately his hands go to her ass, pulling her against him rhythmically as their mouths meet again. Impatient, he presses her back against the bed, hooking his fingers in the elastic of her underwear and pulling them down. She moves her legs apart, holds his wrist lightly as his fingers stroke her lips, wet and red.

Little sounds grow into a moan when he pushes a finger into her, then two. He stops himself from rubbing against her hip though his arousal is once again throbbing. Three fingers she has to adjust to, but with his mouth at her neck and breasts, Aradia adjusts to that quickly, panting and moaning and grinding back against his hand, practically begging him to fuck her. When he pulls his fingers out she whines, looking at him like she can't understand why he would stop. He moves between her legs and kisses her, pressing his tip to her entrance. He looks at her, questioning. She nods, an answer.

One small push tells him that this may not be a quick process. She's almost impossibly tight, but he won't hurt her. The look on her face is slightly pained, so he strokes her hair and kisses her until she relaxes around him, just enough to pull back and push in a bit further into her. He gives her time to adjust before moving further, little by little until he's completely sheathed in tight wet heat. Under him, she breathes slowly and steadily, trembling.

"Fuck, Aradia." He hisses against her skin, letting go of her hair in fear that he'll grip too tightly.

"Yeah." She breathes, wrapping her arms around him. "You, you can," She stops short of finishing her sentence, as if embarrassed to say it.

That's all the encouragement he needs. His pace is slow, steady, savoring every feeling like its new. Aradia closes her eyes, holds him close, holds him and shudders, gasps. A jolt runs through her when his hand works between their bodies to see if she has something like a clit, which she does. He strokes her until her back arches and she squeezes so tight around him he follows immediately. For a time they just lay there, breathing, her still shaking.

He feels sick.

 

Aradia sleeps. He doesn't even try, just lays there, beyond disgusted with himself. But, she came to him. She kissed him. This wasn't all on him. Couldn't be, not when she clearly wanted him. She tempted him. She knew what she was doing, had to. Torturing him. It wasn't fair, why couldn't it be Dave? At least then it would be slightly normal. Teenagers experimenting, instead of him corrupting the girl.

Finally, he fell into a fitful sleep, waking up every hour,  guilty erotic dreams plaguing him when he wasn't straddling the line between waking and sleep. Some hours later he came to, only to find himself hard again. Aradia was watching him with her unreadable eyes, still bright and visible in the darkness. Silently, she pulled herself closer, hooked her leg around his hip and guided herself onto him.

The rest of the weekend didn't change much. Sex, guilt, more sex. He shows her how to suck cock and spends almost all of Sunday morning returning the favor. Sunday afternoon they burn that set of sheets on the roof. Both of them are quiet, him wracked with guilt and her almost contemplative.

When Dave gets back everything goes back to normal, mostly. Dave and Aradia continue their routine of running ragged, inside jokes and watching movies with the sound off so they can do their own dialogue. Whenever he can, Bro takes her in the shower with him, or fingers her while Dave's in another room. It's more frequent than he intendeds, and he constantly reminds himself it shouldn't be frequent, shouldn't be happening at all. But it does anyway.

One night, he slips into her room, finds the nest she sleeps on empty. He listens carefully, hears dull voices in the next room. Oh. She's with Dave. That's... New. Relief floods through him. A twinge of jealousy. He hopes they're fucking.

 

He sleeps better than he has in months. The next morning he hears Dave come into the kitchen, turns around just in time for him to punch him in the nose. Bro lets him, doesn't move as the blood trickles over his mouth. Dave just stands there, seething.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" He shouts, and he knows Dave knows. "You sick fuck." He almost hisses, fists still clenched, knuckles white and ears bright red. Bro says nothing. "That's fucking rape! Rape!" Dave hits him again, breaks his nose this time.

From behind him, Aradia slips up, eyes on the floor. Bro grimaces, suddenly unable to look at her. There isn't anything for him to say. Dave waits for him to say something, anything, but when nothing comes, he goes on. "She didn't even know! Thought it was fucking normal for adults to show us how things worked, because she _trusted_ you."

Still, nothing. "You- Fuck you." Dave wells over with emotion, voice breaking. It occurs to him that he's never seen Dave this emotional before. He watches Aradia slip her hand into Dave's. Dave turns and storms off. Aradia stays. He raises his eyes, to meet hers. She's been crying, hasn't slept.

"I am so sorry." He says, knowing it's not enough. She nods.

"Why?" She sounds strong. Quiet, hoarse, but sure of herself, knowing she is owed an explanation. He shakes his head.

"Weakness. Stupidity. I can't help myself with you."

She slaps him, once, hard.

"I've heard that before. Doesn't make it better."

"No." He agrees. She looks at him one more time, sad and angry and humiliated and beautiful, then turns away.

A few minutes later Dave and Aradia quietly re-enter, carrying a duffel bag, rucksack and suitcase. Neither of them have much, certainly able to fit what they need and want most in a few bags.

"We're going to Lalonde's." Dave says, not saying how or for how long, but he doesn't even ask. Doesn't need to ask. And as they silently shuffle out the door, the weight of it all comes down on him.

He just lets them go.


End file.
